


The Mystery of the Travelling Scarf

by apliddell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, POV Sherlock Holmes, POV Third Person, Polyamory, lestrollycroft, very minor angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:06:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4764368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock makes a deduction and is not at all pleased about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mystery of the Travelling Scarf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bbcatemysoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbcatemysoul/gifts).



> For Gabe, because he was the genius who put the idea in my head <3

Sherlock squinted at Mycroft suspiciously. There was something funny about him today, and it wasn’t only that he was more boring than usual. Sherlock flicked his eyes over Mycroft again, his eyes finally landing on the dark purple silk scarf knotted round Mycroft’s neck.

“Where did you get that? I’ve never seen you wear it before.”

Mycroft frowned in irritation at being interrupted, though there was a flicker of something else in his eyes as well. He reached one hand halfway to his neck, then dropped it back into his lap, “Get what?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “That was a more feeble attempt at dishonesty than usual. That scarf you’re wearing. Where did you get it? It doesn’t look as ludicrously overpriced as most of your possessions.”

Mycroft affected a sneer, “If you must know, it was a gift.”

Sherlock scoffed, “Who on earth would give you a gift?”

“Some people like me. We were disc-”

“Like who?!”

Mycroft sighed, “Some people. Never you mind. As I was sa-”

Sherlock interrupted with a gasp, “I have seen that before!”

“You’ve just said you hadn’t.”

“Yes, I have. I know because I deduced that Lestrade’s romantic involvement with Molly Hooper is more serious than I’d thought because I saw her wearing the scarf a few days after I saw him with it.”

Mycroft snorted but stroked the fringe of the scarf with his fingertips, “How fanciful.”

Sherlock folded his arms and glared, “You’re a really pitiful liar considering how often the fate of the nation must rest on that particular ability.”

Mycroft pressed a hand to his temple, “Sherlock-”

Sherlock jumped up and paced about the sitting room, “What have you got to fiddle about with my friends for anyway?”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Sherlock, grow up! I am not fiddling about with anybody. Greg and I have been seeing each other for nearly a year, and when I observed his attraction to Molly a few months ago, I suggested that he might want to see her, as well. Molly and I are not romantically involved as such, though the three of us do spend a considerable amount of time together, and we have.” Mycroft cleared his throat, “Become very fond of each other.” Sherlock only glared harder. “I believe you were the one to suggest goldfish, Sherlock.”

“Fish in another pond!” Sherlock shouted. “Why’ve you got to insinuate yourself into every last aspect of my life?! Am I going to open up my fridge one morning to find you bathing in the milk?”

“Sherlock, whether or not you can bring yourself to believe it, some people do actually like m-”

“Well, I don’t! I would like you to leave, please.”

“Sherlock, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not,” Sherlock crossed to the door and opened it, “Get out of my flat. Now.” Mycroft stood, one hand toying with the fringe of his scarf, and looked at Sherlock imploringly.

“Now,” Sherlock repeated, pointing at the door. Mycroft held Sherlock’s gaze for a moment longer, then with a shrug, walked out of the flat.

…

So you’ve had a bit of news today.  
-DI Lestrade-

 

We wanted to tell you, really we did.  
-DI Lestrade-

 

We couldn’t find the words somehow.  
-DI Lestrade-

 

We were afraid you’d react exactly as you are, honestly.  
-DI Lestrade-

 

Could you just talk to him? He’s really upset.  
-DI Lestrade-

 

This isn’t about you, you know.  
-DI Lestrade-

 

We really get on. All three of us. You should see him and Molly together. It’s sweet.  
-DI Lestrade-

 

She got him a kitten.  
-DI Lestrade-

 

You can’t just never speak to your brother again because he’s going out with someone.  
-DI Lestrade-

 

He’s happy. Doesn’t that count for anything?  
-DI Lestrade-

 

All right, well. When you’re ready, mate.  
-DI Lestrade-

 

…

 

Sherlock got up one morning to find Molly sitting in John’s chair. He glared at her and wrapped his dressing gown a bit tighter around himself, “What are you doing here?”

She glared back, “Deduce it.”

Sherlock made for the kitchen, “I don’t want to talk to you about that.”

“Well,” Molly got up and followed him, “You don’t have to talk to me about it, if you talk to Mycroft about it.”

“Correction,” Sherlock took a mug down from the cabinet and began to put the coffee on, “I don’t have to talk to anybody about it.”

Molly leaned past him to get a mug down for herself, “Well, I’m not leaving until you do.”

Sherlock shrugged and opened the fridge, “Then I suppose you live here now. Do you take milk?”

“Yes, please. Are there any biscuits?”

Sherlock set the milk on the bench and looked in the pantry, “John’s finished the ginger ones, but we’ve got these little lemon things.”

Molly peered over his shoulder, “Oh, I do like those. They’re Mycroft’s favourite.” Sherlock shut the pantry with a little bang, turned on his heel, and pushed past Molly to walk back into the sitting room. She followed him, “Sherlock. Come on.”

“I never come on,” Sherlock snapped, picking up his violin. Molly opened her mouth to reply, but he lifted his violin to his shoulder and began to play, drowning her out.

“Fine!” Molly called over the music. “I’ll wait.” She went back to John’s chair and opened a BMJ she found on the side table. Sherlock played on without taking any notice.

That’s how John found them when he came in forty-five minutes later with his arms full of groceries, “Oh hello, Molly,” he raised his voice to be heard over the music. “Sherlock, want to help me with this stuff?”

“No,” Sherlock played louder, and John rolled his eyes and carried the things into the kitchen. When John had put away the groceries, he stood in the doorway of the sitting room and watched Molly read and Sherlock play.

“You lot are being weird. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock said, playing louder.

“He found out that Mycroft and me are both going out with Greg, and now he’s all cross about it,” Molly shouted over Sherlock’s playing.

John raised his eyebrows, “Both of you?”

Molly nodded and put down her magazine, “I know it sounds a bit odd, but it really works. Mycroft and me have got to be such good friends. He’s really sweet, in his own way. Bit like Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s violin grunted angrily when he drew his bow off it, “I do not want to hear about this!”

“Well, I asked, and she was telling me,” John frowned. “Why are you so bothered about this anyway?”

“You don’t understand!” Sherlock set his violin down and turned to address Molly, “You don’t know him like I know him. Eventually he will be bored of you or tired of you, and he won’t even bother to explain. You’ll just be suddenly back amongst the normal people as if he never thought anything of you at all!”  
Molly stood, her eyes bright and the tiniest tremour to her voice when she spoke, “I know that you think. I know you can’t imagine anyone loving any of the three of us. But we do love each other, and we don’t need you to understand. Sit here and be awful, if that’s what you want! I’m tired of trying to get you to approve of me!” With that, she marched out of the flat, banging the door shut behind her.

John looked at Sherlock, “That was bad.”

“I know that!” Sherlock reached for his violin again, but set to pacing instead. “Do you think that was what I wanted to happen?!”

John came up and stroked Sherlock’s shoulder, “There are people who’d tell me you’ll only get bored of me, you know.”

Sherlock stood a little stiffly but allowed John to rub his shoulder, “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

Sherlock sighed and towed John to the sofa, where he planted his nose against John’s neck and breathed deeply for a few moments before he spoke again, “All of my adult life. All of his adult life, my brother has been adamant that attachments are mistakes. Strength is solitude. And now for reasons best known to himself, suddenly he’s changed his mind? And he decides to have his little experiment with my two closest friends? Coincidentally?”

John stroked Sherlock’s back as he spoke and kissed his hair when he’d finished, “Never too late to realise you’ve been making a mistake. Well, no. Actually. Sometimes it is. Life is always shorter than you think. Mmm?”

Sherlock shrugged and sniffed, “This isn’t about us, John.”

John kissed him again, “No. It isn’t, is it?”

Sherlock harrumphed and sniffed John’s collar, “When did you get to be so bloody clever?”

John smiled, “Sorry about that. It’s the company I keep.”

…

Later that night, Sherlock rang Molly’s mobile. Mycroft picked up. “As it happens, I am just as apprehensive about my own coldbloodedness as you are,” he said without preamble.

Sherlock was silent for a long moment, “Tell me about the kitten.”

“The kitten?”

“Le-Greg said Molly’s given you a kitten. Tell me about the kitten.”

“I. It’s a kitten Sherlock. Very small. Whiskers. You’re familiar with the concept?”

“For the love of god, Mycroft. Haven’t you ever described anything before? What’s it called? What colour is it?”

“Oh.” Mycroft coughed, “It’s a. Girl kitten. Russian blue. Blue eyes. Er. Lively and sweet. Per Molly, its official name is Bronte.”

Sherlock smiled despite himself, “But?”

“But. I call it.” Mycroft lowered his voice to a mortified whisper, “I call it Darling.”

Sherlock burst into surprised giggles, “Oh my god!”

“Yes, I know.” Mycroft laughed a little nervously himself, “Would you. Would you like to meet her?”

Sherlock considered, “Yeah, all right.”

“Excellent. This Saturday evening?”

“Fine.”

“Bring John and stay for dinner. We can make it a.” Sherlock was quite sure he knew the prim little face that accompanied Mycroft’s tone, “Triple date.”

Sherlock snorted, “Goodness.”

“We’re looking forward to seeing you this weekend, Sherlock.”

“All right, don’t overdo it.” Sherlock paused, “Ah. Mycroft?”

“Yes?”

“If you hurt them, I will break into your house and strangle you while you sleep.”

“Well yes, of course. Good. See you Saturday,” Mycroft said and disconnected.


End file.
